Besides, nobody can tell exactly when the old man may die.

Indeed they are waiting for his death every hour--he is beyond eighty already.

A most awful bore certainly.

Ah ha! The old fool is unable to get up any more, he is not even able to strike anybody.

If he cries out, nobody is afraid of him; but, at any rate, he has strength enough to pull the bell-rope, send for his steward, tell him to go to the office of the _alispan_[1] there ferret out and bring back his last will and testament--and then he can dictate another will to his lawyer quite cosily at his ease." [Footnote 1: Vice-lieutenant of the county.] And in order to emphasize his words more terribly, he there and then gave a tug at the bell-rope.
Yet for all that nobody turned towards him; the lady kept dealing out the cards, the young girl continued working beads into her sampler, the governess went on reading, and the old spinster was still intent upon some delicate operation with her needle--just as if nobody had spoken a word.
In answer to the bell an ancient serving-man appeared in the doorway, and the old gentleman, after waiting a little to see from the countenances of those present (he could observe them in the mirror opposite) whether his allusion to his will had produced any effect, and finding no notice taken of it whatever, said in a sharp, petulant voice: "Louis!" The servant approached the sofa and then stood still again.
"My dinner!" This was the end of the awe-inspiring threat.
The old gentleman observed, or rather, suspected, some slight amusement in the company present.
"Miss Kleary!" he observed irritably, "don't you observe that Henrietta is looking out of the window again?
I am bound, Miss, to direct your attention to the fact that I consider such a thing decidedly unbecoming in a young lady." "Dear Grandpapa.....!" began the accused.
"Silence! I did not speak to Henrietta, I spoke to Miss Kleary.